


O Come, All Ye Faithful

by JCutter



Series: Browser Histories [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale has opinions about Pride and Prejudice, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Face-Fucking, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Hair-pulling, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Podfic Welcome, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wingfic, on a kink scale of 0 to The Secretary this is about a 2, pwp mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 21:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCutter/pseuds/JCutter
Summary: Set four months after the events of It’s More Likely Than You Think, Aziraphale buys a camera for Crowley. Originally a PWP, it now has a small baby plot of its own.Sequel toIt's More Likely Than You Think.





	O Come, All Ye Faithful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curtaincall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtaincall/gifts), [starknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starknight/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It's More Likely Than You Think](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20368234) by [curtaincall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtaincall/pseuds/curtaincall). 

Crowley stared at Aziraphale’s new computer. The angel had gotten it four months ago and was now a frequent user. In addition to breathing life into scams, he often used it to look up eateries just out of town that he couldn’t necessarily walk to. Noticing that, Crowley had offered to drive him around the outskirts of London, but Aziraphale had icily pointed out that one cannot discover quaint new restaurants as they passed at 90 miles an hour. Aziraphale had also, on at least three occasions Crowley knew of, used the internet to look up _bebop_ that Crowley liked. In true Aziraphale fashion, the songs played through the bookshop’s gramophone.

It was all well and good; Aziraphale’s last machine had been nothing more than angelic will threading through computer chips like electricity, the whole thing just waiting to melt into holy goo, and an upgrade was in order. Aziraphale had been happy with his free iPhones and MILF book club and a fourth monarchal branch added to the Nigerian government. Crowley was happy that Aziraphale was happy.

Then this blessed new machine had brought unbearable torture into Crowley’s life. He stood in the bookshop now, watching Aziraphale bustle with this thing and that thing, books to organize, shelves to dust. He would not, under any circumstances, look directly at Crowley. For once, the demon felt like one of the angel’s unwanted customers. Crowley had swung by with a new webcam cover after a nightmare of Aziraphale in a Sony Centre, _believ_ing up the place, making a shop’s worth of electronics run in accordance to the angel’s illogical expectations. Aziraphale had gotten just close enough to Crowley to snatch the box and place it lightly next to the new laptop, and then disappeared between the shelves.

The angel had been like this since the lunch following The Incident.

Crowley eventually took his leave.

~ * ~ * ~

_I’ll keep that in mind._ Aziraphale had said it with such fond exasperation three months ago, all sweetness and burning cheeks, that it became Crowley’s new talisman against the fear his desire was unrequited. Good timing because, especially after the world didn’t end and they resumed their old star-crossed routine, his previous talisman was getting rusty and Crowley was beginning to fear his affections were unrequited. Oh, Crowley still treasured the Bastille, 1793. Aziraphale chained up beneath the fortress like the perfect damoiseau in distress, Crowley springing him free in his own rakish underdog garb. Aziraphale _hmm_ing and sighing about too many frivolous miracles because somehow discorporation was less paperwork than one more miracle. Crowley had dropped Aziraphale’s chains and then just because he could, had refused lunch until Aziraphale miracle’d his clothing switch – and now Crowley _knew_ and Aziraphale _knew he knew_ and things were perfect.

Crowley had been thinking about the Bastille as he sealed the envelope for his James Bond bullet hole decals. He had been in denial at the time but after two hundred years and the whole saving the world bit, he could accept his rakish hero kink.

And therein lay the rub. Specifically, Aziraphale’s rub, as it were. The acceptance of kinks.

~ * ~ * ~

As soon as Aziraphale had shooed him out of the shop that fateful day, Crowley had driven the Bentley home on a cloud. He had gone home and opened his own laptop, the sleek beast he imagined the human A. J. Crowley owning, and plucked each of those porn titles out of his memory like a curse. He dropped them into the computer and even as he did, he heard Aziraphale’s _seeds of its own destruction_, and Crowley should have known he couldn’t handle watching them all, one by one.

It was one thing to browse porn he himself liked – and he was smart enough to clear _Touched by An Angel_ and _A Little Devil in Those Angel Thighs: A BBM Collection_ from his browser history – but quite another to effectively watch someone else’s and imagine their pleasure. He popped open his jeans as he sat at his computer desk, mostly by habit, and settled in with one hand on the mouse and the other curled lightly around his half-erection, already knowing he wouldn’t be able to fully resist. But he wasn’t there to come. Today was about _learning_.

This is where the _rocks of iniquity_ came in. The karmic return of snooping at Aziraphale’s browser history. By the end of _I Entered the Mouth of Hell and It Felt So Good_, Crowley was going to discorporate. He was helpless to the image of Aziraphale’s studiously buttoned vest and slacks undone, the angel’s plump fingers wrapped around the modest cock Crowley knew he had originally manifested for better tailored slacks. Sweat dampening down those goldenwhite curls, eyes rolling back the way they had when he had said _remarkable_ in a Roman tavern millennia ago. Crowley had carried that image with him all the way to Wessex.

_Sod pure academic interest_.

Crowley had jerked off in record time and slapped his laptop shut as if it were a lid onto a boiling-over pot, but he was a marked demon now. It was all over. The slow burn he had carried for six thousand years, the reasonable pang of hot coals, now felt like trying to hold an oxygen fire in his fist. Even a demon couldn’t hold hellfire indefinitely, once lit.

_I’ll keep that in mind_, Aziraphale had said with that melting look. But for how long? Was that a polite _no_? Was it a _maybe_? Was it, _maybe, if you’re a good little demon_?

It took two weeks for Crowley to get up the guts to call Aziraphale and invite him to lunch, and another week of daily invites before the angel said yes.

Crowley drove them in the Bentley to one of the cafes Aziraphale had _Google searched_ – the angel insisted on using the whole phrase – just so the familiar bickering about speed limits would belay any awkward silence. Once they reached the cafe, they bickered about legal parking, tea preparation, and oddly, the original purpose of stockings. Apparently it had come up at the last MILF soirée Aziraphale was now hosting on the first Tuesday of every month.

By the time their tea arrived, Crowley was so exasperated by the stuffy and cautious angel that he almost forgot that same angel had masturbated in the middle of his bookshop to a slim redheaded man sucking off a bear in white epoxied wings. Two minute later, when Aziraphale took a bite of his apple scone and sucked a dab of fallen blackberry compote off his thumb, Crowley remembered again with punishing clarity.

Crowley looked away, adjusting his sunglasses. “Enjoying your new friend circle then?” He asked, their food’s arrival being a welcome break in the bickering. Aziraphale sprang into bright stories about the various ladies, names Crowley was not going to remember, and the last few books they’d read.

“We’re calling it the Ladies’ Soho Book Club,” Aziraphale finished excitedly. Crowley knew the angel had been eager for company that delighted in tea and _the classics_ for ages. Crowley had tried, but apparently you were not supposed to supply commentary when your dear friend was reading aloud to you.

“You and your _discreet clubs_, angel,” Crowley teased, and Aziraphale’s face reddened.

Crowley stopped himself from continuing to insinuate – and _oh the insinuations to be had_ – because the whole point of this lunch was to soothe his embarrassed angel and smooth over their friendship. It was not, Crowley had told himself firmly in the mirror that morning, to regain the angel’s trust as step one of a _sod six thousand years this is happening NOW_ seduction.

The rest of lunch went by without comment, Crowley paid with actual money just to see Aziraphale’s pleased surprise, and Crowley drove Aziraphale home at a serene 60 mph just to show the angel he could. When he stopped in front of the shop and Aziraphale stepped out, Aziraphale regarded Crowley with a suspicious stare.

Crowley spread his hands in a _See, everything is still cool_ gesture and was rewarded with the suspicion obviously deepening. He probably thought Crowley’s remark of never forgetting the angel’s porn history meant there would be mockery all day every day until the next Big One. Sure, there would be some mockery, but Crowley was never going to forget scrolling down that History tab the same way he would never forget the _remarkable_ eye roll, or Aziraphale’s body pressed against his in the satanic nun convent, or the slide of that angelic soul against his as they slipped into each other’s corporeal forms for the first time.

Aziraphale, apparently unwilling to thank Crowley for his hard work as a very good best friend who does not make mocking comments and potentially invite such a comment, went inside. Crowley drove home.

~ * ~ * ~

Months of this passed. Uncomfortable silences in the bookshop, and bickering lunches, anything and everything but a normal conversation. Desperation pushed Crowley to this madness: standing outside the shop on the first Tuesday of the month, watching Aziraphale’s new friends step out of taxicabs and off buses in front of the shop. They were all middle age scantily-clad ladies in kersey capes, astrakhan fur coats, and Ottoman cloth jackets that could only be Aziraphale’s doing. At least none of them were tartan.

Crowley had considered coming as Lady Ashtoreth, one of his favorite womanly presentations. It was a Ladies’ Book Club, after all. And middle-aged Ashtoreth, with her nurturing air of a mother and _just this side of decently_ tight tweed skirt, would certainly fit right in. But, Crowley realized as he had tried on that tweed suit again, he was going from blending in with MILFs to _being_ a MILF and that way lay madness. 

Aziraphale was closing the curtains on the windows when Crowley knocked. Aziraphale answered and immediately paled. “What are you doing?” He asked quietly.

Crowley released the breath he’d been holding. “I heard there was a new book club here?” He held up the bottle of red wine he had brought. “I wanted to meet your new friends. And, I…” _Come on, you cowardly snake_. “I missed you.” Crowley blurted. “Talking you to, I mean. Without...” Crowley trailed off in defeat. He could not find the words that encompassed The Incident and the choking cloud around them since then, and even if he did, he was not sure he would voice them.

Aziraphale took this all in with a startled expression that melted into fond exasperation as Crowley choked to a halt. The angel smiled. “I’m glad you came. I’d love to introduce you.”

He stepped aside to let Crowley in. As Crowley passed, Aziraphale said in a firm undertone, “No commentary while people are reading, Crowley.”

Crowley raised his hand to his throat with a ladylike affronted gasp. “I would _never_, angel.”

Aziraphale shook his head and addressed the room, “And there’s the last of us!” He turned back to the room with a soft clap. “How is everyone doing?”

Crowley lingered by the door as the excited conversation started up. The Ladies’ Soho Book Club now had seven regulars, all perched on the various furniture in the bookshop’s back room, with a few new chairs Aziraphale must have bought recently. Their fanciful Victorian coats piled over one another on the coat rack.

“Ladies,” Crowley said politely, perching on the arm of a sofa with the wine bottle while Aziraphale got wine glasses.

“Oh, you must be Crowley!” One of the ladies exclaimed, her camisole fluttering fetchingly as she bounced, arms wrapped around a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who was pointedly not turning around. Not one to miss an opportunity, Crowley crossed his legs with his most charming smile. “Got it in one. How did you know?”

The women cuddled closely on the sofa all giggled. “He may have mentioned you a few times. Redhead that wears sunglasses indoors—”

“Handsome slip of a man,” chimed another.

“With quite a lovely—”

“Yes, _thank you, Meredith_,” Aziraphale said sharply, to the laughter of the room, including Crowley. The tall brunette in a pink chemise that had last spoken — Meredith, apparently — winked at Crowley, who was having a hard time controlling the curl of surprised pleasure at this realization about Aziraphale. He hadn’t entirely scared the angel away then.

Aziraphale bustled back with the wine glasses, noticeably flushed, and poured them for about half the women present. The other half were filling their glasses from the lemonade pitcher.

“Now then,” he said firmly, all business, and his new friends still looked highly amused, “Who wants to share their thoughts on the last few chapters?”

~ * ~ * ~

Crowley, Aziraphale, and the rest of the book club were getting quite toasty near the end of the evening, and those that had abstained from the wine were laughing along at the antics and mostly-friendly debates around them. Crowley was warming up to the ladies, and Aziraphale seemed relaxed for the first time in months, the demon had softened up enough to engage in conversations about the book. He had confessed to not having read _Pride and Prejudice_ himself, merely skimmed it, but the ladies were happy to catch him up. One of them called him _Darcy_, which he supposed he wasn’t meant to understand, when it made the other members giggle and exchange looks.

One of them described, in biting detail a _Mr. Collins_ in the novel, some sort of romantic counterpart to the main love story. She read a passage to him with that character, doing all the voices, that had Crowley rolling, only half-aware of Aziraphale’s tightening fingers around the arm of his chair. 

“He sounds like a useless lug,” Crowley laughed. “Why read about someone that annoying?” The passage had brought back every memory of his whining, lurking colleagues. A couple of the women laughed and agreed.

He heard a sharp intake of breath beside him and turned to face a wineflushed, frowning Aziraphale, who addressed the room.

“_Listen_,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley could hear the third glass of wine in the angel’s tone. “Mr. Collins played an _important role_ in this novel.” He punctuated each emphasis with a pointer finger on the arm of his chair. “He was who Elizabeth could have married in another universe and it’s a pointed reflection of Mr. Darcy; Elizabeth calls Darcy prideful but _really_ who is more prideful than Mr. Collins? And for the worst reasons! He is the _epitome_ of the… the unscrupulous men of that time period. He is disrespectful of Elizabeth’s wants, wanting only a wife to show off to Lady Cathrine as a status symbol. He is the _opposite_–”

An unreadable glance in Crowley’s direction. “--of Mr. Darcy who, even at his most prideful and rude, loved and respected Elizabeth. And without Mr. Collins, we wouldn’t have the iconic exchange between Elizabeth and her parents.” One of Aziraphale’s hands went to his chest. “When Mr. Bennett says, ‘Your mother will not speak to you again if you refuse to marry Mr. Collins, but I won’t speak to you again if you do.’ Absolutely superb writing that gave us insight into Mr. and Mrs. Bennett. Mr. Bennett most certainly loves his children and Mrs. Bennett does as well, but has to consider things that Mr. Bennett as a well-off man has never had to think about. To Mr. Bennett, Elizabeth should do what makes her happy, but to Mrs. Bennett, Elizabeth should marry Mr. Collins and be _stable_ and _safe_.”

“You’ve really done it, Mr. Crowley,” Meredith murmured during a breath in the tirade. “Do not insult the villains.”

Crowley wasn’t unhappy, though. One could not be best friends with Aziraphale for thousands of years and not accept rants. Plus, Aziraphale assured him, Crowley was prone to monologuing as well. He refilled his wine glass, Aziraphale’s, and Meredith’s. 

Aziraphale shot her a pointed look, but managed a bit of composure as he continued. “Mr. Collins is clearly neither intelligent nor wealthy, he is simply a man. So he latches on to Lady Cathrine and he takes pride in his duties to her. Charlotte accepts his marriage offer because it is her best offer. She makes that choice, and Jane Austen does an exceptional job of making sure we don’t dislike Charlotte for making that decision.”

Aziraphale’s face softened and for a moment, Crowley wished he had read the book so he understood. “People Doing the Best They Can is a recurring theme in Jane Austen’s novels, and an important counterpoint to the romantic protagonists, who get to do what they want for love because they have the privilege of time, money, status, and so on.” He sipped his wine.

In the resulting silence, the blonde nearest to Crowley said, “Lydia is definitely the most annoying character, anyway.”

Meredith scoffed, “No, Mrs. Bennett without question. Twice the cow my mother was, and that’s really saying something.”

“What? No no, Mr. Wickham, most certainly!”

The room exploded into noise, filling the ringing silence Aziraphale had left. Crowley looked over at the angel and smiled. Over the rim of his wine glass, Aziraphale smiled back.

~ * ~ * ~

As the party wound down and the ladies started to leave, Crowley couldn’t help but lean back on the sofa and study the host. Aziraphale looked happy as he shared last minute quips and compliments, saying a personal goodbye to each member. He looked happier than he’d been in front of Crowley for months. To put it in Aziraphale’s dusty words, Crowley felt like a cad. He had never intended to stress Aziraphale out this badly. He had been mulling over a post-meeting drink or two with the angel, but maybe some air would be better.

Crowley stood to leave, and suddenly found himself half-tripping over Meredith who had stood at that exact moment as well. “Oh – pardon me,” he muttered. She waved him off good-naturedly and went to Aziraphale, pulling at the angel’s elbow. Aziraphale looked startled but not unhappy and she leaned in to say something.

He said his own goodbyes to the members, only half-thinking about his words as he strained to eavesdrop on their conversation. Only a demon, after all. Aziraphale’s soft but firm protests drowned out most of Meredith’s words.

“--him the damned box, dear. I know he wouldn’t mind,” Meredith’s voice rose over the protests. “You’re like a man with a beating heart beneath his floorboards, these days.”

Aziraphale’s lips were pursed, and those worry lines that were always present when Crowley was around, were back. Crowley didn’t catch the end of the conversation, but Aziraphale waved her goodbye with a warm smile and suddenly the two of them were alone in the bookshop.

“I’d best be getting along too, then. Good seeing you, angel,” Crowley said with practiced levity.

“Wait, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, closing the distance between them for the first time in months. Crowley could see the light wineflush on the angel’s face, the easiness around the eyes. Whatever was about to happen was at least a little emboldened by drink.

Crowley carefully kept his hands at his sides, and his tongue firmly held. He had had a bit too much to drink as well, and didn’t trust himself to not to pull the angel close by his belt-loops and do any number of the acts he had seen in those _blessed, blessed_ videos.

Confident that Crowley was staying in place, Aziraphale moved just past him to the desk and pulled a small box out from one of the side drawers. It was a simple gray box, with a silver ribbon and a quaint bow on top.

“Oh dear, did I forget an anniversary?” Crowley asked teasingly, but he knew his rising brows betrayed his utter confusion.

“Just open it, you old serpent,” Aziraphale snipped, not rising to the bait. “As a– well. An apology of sorts. I know I’ve been acting quite odd and it must have been confusing. And also as a--” Aziraphale broke off with a sharp huff. He looked annoyed but not at Crowley. “Oh open it, you’ll figure it out.”

Crowley took all this in and, for once without a damned thing to say, pulled the ribbon loose and opened the box.

Tucked in silver tissue paper that matched the ribbon, was a handheld camera. It was sleek, modern, very Crowley’s style and very not Aziraphale’s style. Crowley stroked the lens cap in wonder before looking back up at Aziraphale. The angel was staring straight back, those normally bright blue eyes darkening with widened pupils, and several switches in Crowley’s brain and one well below that clicked into place.

“Aziraphale…?” He breathed out, not able to help the questioning note at the end.

A shy smile split Aziraphale’s face and oh yes, this was definitely drink-emboldened, but it was also possible Aziraphale had been as upset at their bickering-or-silence options as of late as well and they would have arrived here regardless.

“What is this?” Crowley asked in his best approximation of a firm tone, but too high pitched and wild around the edges to be convincing.

Aziraphale’s smile turns teasing. “You offered to help me make a… _cinematographic show_ of my choosing. Will you rescind that offer?”

Crowley tried for _How could I possibly say no_? but only, “Hng” emerged.

Aziraphale’s lips twitched, obviously trying not to laugh. “Do say yes, my dear,” he said. 

Determined to get at least back to equal footing, Crowley gave Aziraphale a long look over the rim of his sunglasses, and was rewarded with a full body shiver from the angel. For so many years, he had worried that reaction was fear or distaste, but Aziraphale’s blessed internet history had shaken that assumption.

“Are you sure?” Crowley asked silkily, and the threat lingering in his tone, the hiss of the original Serpent. But as he continued, the yearning bled through too, his adoration, and his protectiveness of this angel. “Do you know what you’re asking for?”

The two of them stood face to face, terribly still, only the box and a couple feet of space between them. Crowley was still clutching the box tightly, the corners pressing into his fingers, a sharp reminder this was actually happening.

“I do,” Aziraphale said, smiling still, amusement turning nearly predatory which was just _not on_. That was Crowley’s field, damn it!

Aziraphale reached out, one hand cupping Crowley’s jaw with devastating gentleness, and the other hand resting on the small of Crowley’s back. The box in the demon’s hands rattled. Crowley was held like a butterfly on pins, gazing up at a force he understood so much less than he thought he had. The porn tastes had been a good hint his angel was not a blushing virgin, but now Crowley was sure he wasn’t.

“I’m asking for a _real_ demon,” Aziraphale said, running fingers down Crowley’s back where his wings were tucked out of this reality. As reflexively as grabbing a bottle opener when the angel glanced toward the wine rack, Crowley obeyed Aziraphale’s desire and unfurled his wings. The pair of them were suddenly shrouded in low light as the massive wings blocked the ambient bookshop lighting. Aziraphale looked around approvingly. “Just like that,” he said, slow and dark, and clearly having no idea how little control Crowley had. Aziraphale released Crowley and clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Now to the camera--”

Crowley set the box down on the nearest flat surface. “Rehearsals first,” he declared, and seized Aziraphale’s mouth with his own.

Aziraphale made a startled noise, but the hand cupping Crowley’s jaw slid into his hair and _held on_. Crowley’s arms wrapped tightly around the angel and held him close, flush together in a way they’d only been in a handful of times in human history. Aziraphale smiled beneath him and now Crowley knew what that _to the world_ mouth felt like against his. Aziraphale’s hands ran up the demon’s back, fingers sliding against the dark feathers he found there. Crowley involuntarily shuddered, melting into Aziraphale and tried not to feel self-conscious about being an absolute puddle.__

_ __ _

Crowley leaned back and opened his eyes, to see Aziraphale looking steadily at him. Unafraid, unruffled, and absolutely focused. It was the satanic nun convent again, Crowley grabbing and emoting, Aziraphale just steadily watching to see what the demon would do next. If they hadn’t been interrupted, God only knows what would have happened. Probably _this_. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s lapels and _spread_, forcing it half-off the angel’s shoulders, grinning as Aziraphale shrugged off the offending garment and let it fall. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s wrists as the demon went for the vest.

_ __ _

“No, I think not, my dear,” Aziraphale said, pushing Crowley’s hands back toward him. “I’m afraid I like to scope out the… the actor before I begin,” he continued, teasing. A game then, like the Arrangement. 

_ __ _

Crowley grinned back. “Of course, angel.” He started to peel his jacket off when his brain caught up to his hands – or more accurately his wings. With a self-deprecating laugh, he miracled the jacket, vest and shirt to be slung over the sofa nearby, and tried to tamper down a flash of insecurity over his overly lanky form next to Aziraphale’s broad curves and frankly very good shoulders. The way Aziraphale was looking at him though, like those little pastry displays in a cafe window that made Aziraphale _have_ to go inside to try them, soothed the feeling immensely. He was down to just slacks and his slim silver scarf for effect when Aziraphale stopped him with a hand on his naked chest. Crowley shuddered and drew his wings closer.

_ __ _

Aziraphale’s fingers ran up Crowley’s chest, tangling in the scarf, and dragged Crowley forward for another kiss. Crowley wasn’t going to protest, even if his jeans were way too tight for the activity to not be at least a little painful. He’d been idly thinking about this for thousands of years; if it was all they did, it would be plenty. It had gone from intrigue to desire two thousand years ago, and from desire to need shortly after. Crowley needed this, he could admit that. Minutes of kissing and Crowley’s thoughts were getting fuzzy, worn down to just feeling Aziraphale emphatically _requite_ Crowley’s desire in the dark cocoon of Crowley’s wings.

_ __ _

When they broke apart, Aziraphale’s smile was positively wicked and Crowley could feel his dignity coming apart at the seams. He stuffed down the urge to beg a wicked angel to do anything that might catch his fancy. Aziraphale started methodically undoing Crowley’s belt and Crowley leaned in and rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s. The intimate gesture made Aziraphale jump and his fingers twitched against the belt as he fumbled it free.

_ __ _

Torturously, when Crowley’s hard cock was freed from the jeans, Aziraphale stepped back. “Angel, what–” Crowley started, but Aziraphale quieted him with a cupped hand on Crowley’s jaw again.

_ __ _

“Vocals are an important part of my choice as well,” Aziraphale said primly, tone so dissonate with what they were doing, still properly dressed next to a shirtless demon, Crowley had the briefest flash of a _naughty schoolboy charming his way into the expensive private school_ fantasy.

_ __ _

Aziraphale kept going. “So I would like a demonstration of that, my dear boy.” The petname only fanned Crowley’s imaginations.

_ __ _

“My… vocals?” He asked, puzzled, but was starting to blush self-consciously at where he figured this was going to go.

_ __ _

Aziraphale kept that same distractingly prim tone. “I want you to touch yourself, Crowley. You’re such a noisy one, my dear, and I wish to see that here.” 

_ __ _

_Noisy_? Crowley wanted to protest, but he couldn’t seem to form an argument with the angel staring at him expectantly. He reached down and freed his cock from its last layer but once he curled his fingers around it, he felt frozen.

_ __ _

“I–” Oh in the name of all that is unholy, he was going to lose his nerve. It’s one thing to share passions together, it’s quite another to put on a _show_. Aziraphale seemed to sense the trouble.

_ __ _

“Here, let me…” Aziraphale trailed off with a slight smile. Those fixed eyes were still expectant, still predatory, and Crowley felt terribly exposed. The familiarity of that stare right through him was the only comfort, like the blaze of the Bentley’s headlights in the dark, the enshrouding light outlining every bit of Crowley himself. Aziraphale ducked under one of Crowley’s wings to get behind him, and every feather he touched in doing so tingled. Aziraphale’s fingers landed on Crowley’s back and ran up the expanse of it. This time he brushed past the base of Crowley’s wings to his shoulders, his neck, his _hair_. Crowley extended his wings forward, nearly hugging himself so he could push more easily back toward Aziraphale.

_ __ _

Aziraphale’s hands fell to Crowley’s wings again, running along the topmost edge, nearly to the wrists, pushing outward and spreading Crowley’s wings for him.

_ __ _

“Now dear, don’t hide the show from me,” he chided. “Go on, now.”

_ __ _

The angel tucked his chin against Crowley’s shoulder, looking down. Crowley’s flush was reaching his chest now, but he was emboldened by Aziraphale’s arms around his body, palm spread against his exposed stomach. Aziraphale’s heavy breathing against him betrayed the angel’s excitement, fueling Crowley’s confidence, and the demon hesitantly began stroking himself. The rise and fall of the broad chest pressed against Crowley’s back provided a rhythm for his hand to move with, and the last of Crowley’s self-consciousness crumbled when he stole a sideways glance and saw Aziraphale transfixed on the show before him. He found himself watching Aziraphale’s face as he continued, his pace speeding up as Aziraphale’s breath quickened. Crowley’s wings fluttered mindlessly, aching not unpleasantly as they were pressed between two warm bodies.

_ __ _

As Crowley pulled on his own cock, Aziraphale’s hands wandered back to his shoulders and hair, wings, waist, mapping out all of Crowley. The sensations finally dragged an involuntary groan out of Crowley’s throat and Aziraphale’s fingers tightened around Crowley’s hips. Another groan escaped him as Aziraphale pulled him back, bringing their bodies flush together – and based on the hardness pressing against Crowley’s ass through Aziraphale’s slacks and his own jeans, it was a welcome sound. His own hand stuttered on his cock and Aziraphale chuckled shakily. The vibration of Aziraphale’s body sent shivers across Crowley’s, and the tremors ran down his body and out across the wings, causing the very tips to quiver.

_ __ _

“I didn’t say _pause_, my dear,” Aziraphale rebuked lightly, and his breath ticked the nape of Crowley’s neck, making the hairs rise. “I will let you know when I’m satisfied.”

_ __ _

Crowley resumed stroking, blushing furiously, to the sound of an approving hum from Aziraphale. The things he was willing to do for this angel… It was Aziraphale’s erratic breath behind him and the angel’s hands on his naked torso that drew more helpless groans from Crowley. The demon tipped his head back against Aziraphale and his wings quivered again, the primaries spreading like toes.

_ __ _

That helpless lounge against Aziraphale’s chest seemed to break the angel’s resolve to only watch.

_ __ _

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s shoulders fiercely and the demon barely folded his wings tightly in time before Aziraphale turned him around and grabbed his mouth again in a searing kiss. Crowley nipped the angel’s bottom lip lightly, and Aziraphale’s breath hitched against Crowley’s lips.

_ __ _

“Off, with the rest of it,” Aziraphale insisted, shoving Crowley’s pants downward and grabbing two fistfuls of the demon’s ass, pulling him close. Crowley jumped and laughed, a bit breathless. It was easy to forget, when one wasn’t driving or taking too long to order, how demanding Aziraphale could be.

_ __ _

“One moment, angel.” He leaned against Aziraphale with one hand, the other awkwardly pulling off his boots and _god why didn’t he do this before they started_.

_ __ _

And then, _oh that’s right, I was jumped before I could_. And that thought sent such a shiver of glee, of fondness, of _finally this, this one at last_ that he miracle’d himself completely naked so he could wrap around the still-clothed Aziraphale and lose himself in another desperate kiss. The rest of his clothes joined the others on the sofa; Aziraphale ran his hands down Crowley’s sides, to his hips, over his ass, almost down his thighs, uninterrupted by jeans now.

_ __ _

“Perfect,” Aziraphale breathed, and his smile was so soft with that goldenwhite hair haloed by the bookshop light fixtures, Crowley felt such rapture, it was only natural he sank to his knees. His wings reflexively arched forward, curving around Aziraphale, and provided a warm cocoon for Crowley and the angel’s legs. Crowley sat there, kneeling between Aziraphale’s shiny shoes, fingers curled in the angel’s belt loops, and looked beseechingly upward.

_ __ _

“I want _something_ now, angel,” he hissed, more demand than request, the last of his cocky bravado fighting against the onslaught of this lascivious, demanding creature.

_ __ _

Aziraphale laughed and started undoing his belt. “Good. You’re going to receive it, my dear.”

_ __ _

The words sent another coil of pleasure down Crowley’s spine, a part of him still shocked at the angel’s boldness, and his wings fluttered around him in reflex. But no–

_ __ _

“No,” Crowley said, catching one of Aziraphale’s hands with one of his own, and Aziraphale’s movements stilled. “First. I want your _wings_, Aziraphale.”

_ __ _

The angel looked startled and a little pleased. He reached down and took off Crowley’s sunglasses, and the motion was so much more gentle and loving, it incinerated the last memory of Hastur doing the same. He folded them up and tucked them into his front pocket as he asked, “Why is that, Crowley?”

_ __ _

Crowley grinned, naked in the only way that mattered. “You are only asking that because you haven’t seen my internet history,” he answered honestly, and Aziraphale’s bright, pleased smile was priceless.

_ __ _

Obediently in a way Crowley imagined was going to be the last time that evening, Aziraphale uncloaked his own wings. Those blazing white feathers brushed Crowley’s black ones as they unfurled, and the demon felt the touch like an electric shock. In the light of the overhead lamps glowing through that dove white curtain, Crowley’s deft fingers undid the last of Aziraphale’s belt, pulled the offending layers away, and wrapped his lips around a thought he idly carried longer than the history of the Earth.

_ __ _

Aziraphale’s hips jerked and his hands fell on the sofa arm behind him. Encouraged, Crowley hooked both hands on those belt loops. He rocked back on his heels for a better angle and licked up the length of Aziraphale’s cock, enjoying the shaky groan above him. The dorsal vein aligned right with the fork in Crowley’s tongue and the demon curled both tips as he licked upward again. Aziraphale fell back, his ass hitting the sofa arm now, and Crowley laughed low in his throat. Watch Aziraphale stay all prim and proper with this.

_ __ _

Crowley slid his hands around to grab two fistfuls of Aziraphale’s ass, as the angel had done earlier, and took Aziraphale’s entire cock into his mouth. He pulled back, dragging some of the loose foreskin with him, and Aziraphale’s hips stuttered forward again. He was definitely holding back, Crowley was sure of it, and that just wouldn’t do. He started sucking Aziraphale’s cock with regular strokes, squeezing the ass in his hands as he did and both Aziraphale’s hands fell to Crowley’s hair. Crowley hollowed his cheeks once, twice, and felt those fingers tighten in the strands–

_ __ _

He felt more than heard Aziraphale take a deep breath and force his hands to relax. They carded softly through Crowley’s hair now, and suddenly Crowley had enough. His mind flashed to the videos Aziraphale watched, the roughness of the men in charge, the relaxation of the men who weren’t. A particular scene of _The Mouth of Hell_ stormed through Crowley so fiercely, his fingers seized in Aziraphale’s slacks. 

_ __ _

_Is Aziraphale into having that kind of control?_

_ __ _

Grinning, Crowley leaned back and nipped Aziraphale’s thigh through his slacks, making Aziraphale jump. “This isn’t very pornographic, angel,” he murmured, and looked up. “Where’s that bit of bastard I love?”

_ __ _

Aziraphale’s eyes were saucers, looking down at Crowley, and Crowley slowly realized what he had said. One part of him wanted to run screaming, this was never how he intended to confess to Aziraphale: on his knees, nuzzling the velvet skin of the angel’s hard cock. The angel’s eyes were darkening now, considering, calculating. Whether it was to Crowley’s confession, or the implication that Crowley wanted something more akin to their shared kinks, or both — the demon had no idea. Crowley took a deep breath during the poised silence. Aziraphale surely already knew both, his love for and complaisance to the angel. Aziraphale surely already knew. _It certainly couldn’t be that–_

_ __ _

Those soft threading hands seized Crowley’s hair and bent his head back, and Crowley yelped. 

_ __ _

_Shocking._

_ __ _

Crowley’s head remained arched backwards as Aziraphale pushed away from where he had leaned and stood, looking down at him. After knowing Aziraphale for millennia, he could see the angel making a decision. Crowley could have twisted away if he wanted to, but he was transfixed. This was the Aziraphale that snapped a soldier halfway around the world and brandished a sword at Satan. Aziraphale strode around to sit on the sofa, his fist still tangled in Crowley’s hair, forcing the demon to crawl to keep up.

_ __ _

Aziraphale stretched his wings upward and Crowley was back between his knees, captivated by that fierce angelic fury Aziraphale gave to the world, that instinct to _have_ and _protect_. Dizziness started to build behind Crowley’s eyes. For a desperate moment, he focused on Aziraphale studiously arranging his wings to avoid feather breaks, to avoid swooning. Aziraphale slid to the front of the chair, spreading his legs, and one hand slid around to grab Crowley’s chin to slowly tilt it upward. The demon went without protest and stared up into piercing blue eyes.

_ __ _

“I will be as gentle as I _damned_ well please,” Aziraphale breathed, bringing back that sterling scene from _The Mouth of Hell_, and Crowley couldn’t hear his name being murmured over the sound of the pounding heartbeat in his ears.

_ __ _

The hand still tangled in Crowley’s hair pulled the demon’s head into just the right angle, and Aziraphale shoved his cock into Crowley’s mouth down to the base. Crowley breathed through the gag reflex and resumed sucking in regular strokes, his fingers twitching spasmodically on Aziraphale’s thighs. Aziraphale’s head tipped back against the sofa and he thrust up with Crowley’s rhythm, his moans devolving into soft cries that Crowley lived for. One of Aziraphale’s hands fell to his thigh and his breathing went ragged as their fingers tangled. Fighting an aching jaw, a burning tongue, Crowley sucked cock like it was his purpose on Earth. The head of that cock hammered the back of his throat painfully and he was relatively sure he just dribbed, but _nothing_ mattered compared to his angel’s sounds. Crowley pulled back and wrapped his forked tongue around the head, trying not to grin wickedly at the angel coming undone, and suddenly found himself being pushed backwards.

_ __ _

Aziraphale was breathing hard down at him, and Crowley was enthralled by the single drop of pre-come that slid down the vein of Aziraphale’s shaft. Crowley _did_ smile wickedly then, and his forked tongue darted out to steal the drop. It was his by right of conquest.

_ __ _

Aziraphale’s hands were still shaking slightly as he seized Crowley by the shoulders, his grasp gentle in contrast to the face-fucking of Crowley’s life. As soon as Crowley halfway stood, he was pulled forward by the hips and stumbled with a gasp. One of his knees landed beside Aziraphale’s on the sofa, and a hand flailed out to catch him and brace against the sofa back.

_ __ _

The angel looked up at him, Crowley’s disheveled red curls falling in both of their eyes, and Aziraphale softly, so softly slid his hands to Crowley’s thighs. The deft touches sent shivers up Crowley’s spine and damn him, it was so much easier to stay collected when the angel was rough with him. Aziraphale’s kiss was featherlight and — dare Crowley think _tender_ — as he dropped a trail of kisses across Crowley’s jaw, down his throat, stopping at his collarbone with a nip.

_ __ _

“This is very promising,” Aziraphale said softly, and only the slight tremor in his tone betrayed that this was affecting him as much as Crowley. “But I think… or rather, I want…” His breath hitched. 

_ __ _

Crowley smiled down at him and touched their foreheads together. This was the same rhythm they always had; Aziraphale was demanding up to a point, but then _Oh, these chains_ and _Oh, this stain_ and _Do something, Crowley!_ and Crowley was needed. It was the greatest thing in Crowley’s world. 

_ __ _

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, his voice husky from the cock previously rubbing his throat, “Angel. Fuck me.”

_ __ _

He crawled forward to give Aziraphale an easier angle, both knees perched on either side of the angel’s thighs. Aziraphale cupped one hand around Crowley’s thighs and the other hand pressed slowly, deliciously forward. Crowley’s eyes fell closed for most of his preparation, feeling Aziraphale’s fingers inside him, curling, stretching Crowley. Their sweat-slicked foreheads stayed pressed together, and the angel breathed in Crowley’s mindless moans. Crowley had dabbled once or twice over the millennia but nothing compared to this. His companion for six thousand years. His best friend for at least two thousand of them. The love of his life.

_ __ _

Aziraphale pulled Crowley forward those final few inches, Crowley guiding Aziraphale’s cock to his entrance, as the angel’s hands on his hips pulled Crowley down onto him.

_ __ _

Crowley’s breath hissed between his teeth at the burn, and the pleasure that rushed after was a welcome salve. Aziraphale slowly inhaled, and opened those fierce blue eyes as he exhaled. He was holding carefully still, but Crowley could feel Aziraphale throbbing inside him. Normally when it had been this long, they would have to be careful, and Aziraphale was doing all the right things.

_ __ _

But they were not human. Crowley’s eyes fluttered closed as he summoned a minor demonic miracle: no tearing. Heat surged through his body as with any miracle, and Aziraphale’s fingers dug into the soft skin of Crowley’s hips as the angel’s body jerked. _Oops_.

_ __ _

He looked apologetically at Aziraphale, and the angel looked back with staggeringly dilated eyes. “Crowley,” he breathed, “We’re going to have to experiment with that later.”

_ __ _

_Later_, Crowley’s heart hammered. And then Aziraphale lifted him by the hips and pulled him down in a spine-rattling thrust. Crowley exhaled sharply and braced his hands on either side of Aziraphale, lifting himself up with the next stroke, and down again. They lifted together for the next several, and _god the angel’s shoulders_, who would have guessed… but Crowley should have. The angel had been a dedicated swordsmans for a countless age before the Earth was created and their bodies didn’t degrade as a human’s would—__

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

And then they found that perfect angle together, Crowley’s vision went white, and he wasn’t thinking about angel physiology or Earth anymore. It had all boiled away to Aziraphale beneath him, inside him, shrouding him with those downy feathers. He moaned with every thrust now, and Aziraphale panted desperately into Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale’s wings curled forward, encircling their moving bodies, his primaries brushing the palm of Crowley’s wings and leaving trails of heat up every feather they touched. 

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

Crowley’s back arched with a jerk, head thrown back. From very far away, he heard books fall and the ringing of broken glass in the same moment as one of his feathers bent; his wings had spread too far back and had swiped the coffee table clear. He heard a breathless laugh below him in response and felt Aziraphale shaking his head, “_Crowley_.” They both laughed, rhythm stilling, finding it difficult to maintain character in the face of life’s impracticalities.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

“You wanted real wings,” Crowley said defensively, pulling his wings closer again.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

“I did,” Aziraphale confessed, winded and pleased. “You’ve been… marvelous, my dear.”

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

Crowley reached up to adjust sunglasses that weren’t there, and awkwardly turned the gesture into pushing the hair out of his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

“Never,” Aziraphale said, and pulled the demon into another thrust. The hands on Crowley’s hips were gentle again. Warm, caressing. Crowley’s own hands wandered now, slipping through Aziraphale’s golden curls and the angel was saying something, low and soft, more reverberation than word. They rocked together for long moments before Crowley realized it was his name and _my dear_, whispered reverently against the curve of Crowley’s throat.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

It was this, and the pressure inside him, and the burn of Aziraphale’s thighs against his that tipped Crowley over the edge. A million light-year freestyle dive into what he’d been tumbling toward for six thousand years, shaking apart in Aziraphale’s arms. He curled inward, wings folding in tightly and back out of this reality, leaving only the tingling between his shoulder blades. 

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

Aziraphale pulled mercifully out of him and guided him to flop limblessly next to the angel on the sofa. They leaned together, sweat cooling on both their brows, and Aziraphale’s hand returned to carding tenderly through Crowley’s hair. The angel looked down at him, so fondly Crowley’s throat tightened.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

“Are you alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, curling a single red lock around his finger. Crowley let his eyes fall closed.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

“Just fine, angel,” he eventually managed, cricking his neck with a catlike stretch.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

Aziraphale slowly stood and straightened his vest, all prim and proper again, and Crowley snickered at a sudden memory of the satanic convent. The angel still hadn’t taken off a thing except the jacket. When he rebuttoned his slacks and redid his belt with a clink, if it weren’t for the sweat-stained slacks and hopelessly rumpled hair, he would have looked untouched. Meanwhile, a wild-haired, naked, and undeniably debauched demon regarded him from a naked sprawl on the couch.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

The angel grinned down at his disheveled demon and Crowley infectiously grinned back. When Aziraphale reached down to clasp hands with Crowley, the demon’s heart stuttered and his spent cock twitched. Humans may have a refractory period, but angelic stock had whatever they liked. They were stopped only by their desire to be finished, and nothing on Aziraphale’s face said he was finished.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

“Good rehearsal?” Crowley finally managed.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

Aziraphale’s grin took on that wicked edge again, that _Played for a sucker!_ feral bite of triumph.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

“A good cast rehearses every scene,” Aziraphale said, “And _you_ haven’t fucked _me_ yet, dearest.”

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

He helped Crowley to his feet and led him upstairs by the hand, the camera left still unopened behind them.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: First public smut yaaaay! A gift to the illustrious [curtaincall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtaincall/pseuds/curtaincall) in response to an absolutely _STELLAR_ prompt by [starknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starknight). 
> 
> I’d like to give a shoutout and toast to [tickety-boo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/facelesshellion/pseuds/tickety-boo) for being my winedrunk Aziraphale ranting about Pride and Prejudice – that was ALL her.
> 
> And a special, absolutely reverant THANK YOU to [Jessicafish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiminishingReturns) for being the most extraordinary beta I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with.


End file.
